‘My good sir,’ said the Baronet, ‘how was I to know that the lady was in any danger? I was not even in England at the time. I felt she would soon forget me, as indeed she seems to have done,’ added the speaker sarcastically. ‘Now I come to think of it,’ he continued, ‘I think it is I, indeed, who have reason to complain. You see with what scorn she treated me as she came into the room.’ ‘Surely, Sir Watkin cannot wonder at that.’ ‘On the contrary, I think it rather hard, after the money I spent on her.’ ‘That won’t do, Sir Watkin! You, and such as you, are a disgrace to your class; cruel as wild beasts you spend your lives in pursuit of victims whom you ruin with fair words and foul lies and for foul ends. A time must come when England will no longer tolerate such men in her midst. English women will come to the rescue of their tempted sisters. Society will demand that wealth should not thus be iniquitously squandered in pursuit of vice and selfish gratifications. There is no greater crime a rich man can commit, and yet there is no punishment can reach him. The rich man can always get off, or take himself off. He leaves the seduced to perish of want and infamy, while he is honoured and admired.’ ‘Upon my word, Mr. Wentworth, you are using language which I am quite unaccustomed to.’ ‘I dare say you are, Sir Watkin; but it is the language of truth and soberness, nevertheless.’ ‘Why, one would fancy you were a parson, and availing yourself of the privileges of the cloth,’ said the Baronet with sneer. ‘I was very near being one,’ said Wentworth; ‘and now I recollect that it was then you and I met for the first time. I remember you nearly ran over a poor old woman who was coming to hear me preach.’ ‘Upon my word you have a good memory. I’d forgotten all about it.’ ‘So good a memory,’ said Wentworth, ‘that for the future I recommend you to keep out of my way.’ ‘By all means,’ replied the Baronet; ‘but you ought to hear what I have to say in my defence. I own my conduct was shabby.’ ‘It was infamous.’ ‘But recollect what a mess I was in.’ ‘I will not hear another word,’ said Wentworth. ‘Leave this room, or—’ But there was no occasion to say what he meant to say. Putting on his hat and gathering up his gloves, the Baronet retreated as quickly as he could, looking very different to the finished and self-satisfied appearance of respectability he presented when he first knocked at the door. ‘The scoundrel!’ said Wentworth to himself when alone. ‘He will hear from me further. I have not done with him yet. I’ll meet him at Philippi. I’ll take care that he does not get in for Sloville after all.’ And he kept his word. CHAPTER XV. ELECTIONEERING.